


Defying Kübler-Ross

by Kaz_of_Carinthia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaz_of_Carinthia/pseuds/Kaz_of_Carinthia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I know about the stages of grief, ok? You don’t work for years as a doctor or as a soldier without spending far too much time around people who are dealing with denial, people who are desperately bargaining, and the lucky few who finally manage to accept (...)".</p>
<p>John's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defying Kübler-Ross

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Reichenbach. Implies some knowledge of Season 2.
> 
> Inspired by legions of tremendously talented fanfic writers on Ao3 and elsewhere, as well as an irrational but enduring love of these characters.
> 
> Not beta-ed.

* * *

"I don't want to talk about it. I _can’t_ talk about it. I can’t even think about it without doubling up in agony, the breath punched from my lungs and nauseau twisting in my stomach.

Alright.  _Alright_! Jesus, you really are an insufferable wanker. Right. Fine. But shut up, ok? Just sit there, drink the tea I made and for once just listen. Please.

I thought nothing would ever surpass the horror of watching you at Barts that day. I was wrong.

 

I was so wrong.

 

I know about the stages of grief, ok? You don’t work for years as a doctor or as a soldier without spending far too much time around people who are dealing with denial, people who are desperately bargaining, and the lucky few who finally manage to accept. But the only stage I got to experience, the one I still cannot move beyond, is the excruciating fucking agony of having to watch my best friend, the best man I have ever known – will ever know – step into air with the calm and grace of an angel.

Three years. Three goddamn years, and what do I see, every time I close my eyes?

Arms spread, ridiculous coat billowing. Yes, it was ridiculous. And horrific. And absurdly glorious. Of course it was. It was _you_.

But you broke, and I saw your life pulsing out of you in impossibly scarlet blood, and too soon it had gone. You had just … gone.

I don’t know if I can forgive you.

You’ll explain why you had no choice. It will be rational and you will have been utterly brilliant and it will appeal to your flair for the dramatic.

How could you be such a bloody idiot?

Oh great. _Now_ the anger comes. Wonderful.

 

I’m going to forgive you, aren’t I?"


End file.
